Feel good stories with substance

[STKR]

Kenyan runner Abel Mutai who was just a few feet from the finish line, but became confused with the signage and stopped, thinking he had completed the race. A Spanish runner, Ivan Fernandez, was right behind him and, realizing what was happening, started shouting at the Kenyan to continue running. Mutai didn't know Spanish and didn't understand. Realizing what was taking place, Fernandez pushed Mutai to victory.

A journalist asked Ivan, "Why did you do that?" Ivan replied, "My dream is that someday we can have a kind of community life where we push and help each other to win."
The journalist insisted "But why did you let the Kenyan win?" Ivan replied, "I didn't let him win, he was going to win. The race was his." The journalist insisted, and again asked, "But you could have won!" Ivan looked at him and replied, "But what would be the merit of my victory? What would be the honor in that medal?
What would my Mother think of that?"

Values are passed on from generation to generation.

What values are we teaching our children?

Let us not teach our kids the wrong ways and means to WIN.
Instead, let us pass on the beauty and humanity of a helping hand. Because honesty and ethics are WINNING!

 

[STKR]

 

[STKR]

Sharing a story:

"When I asked my 11-year-old son to help me unload dirt from our small pickup into his mother’s new garden boxes, his reaction was typical.

“Ummmm… I’m busy right now,” He said.

He was playing Roblock on the family laptop, wearing sweat pants and an old T-shirt, lounging on the sofa, feet on the coffee table.

“No you’re not,” I said.

There was a fight, moaning, excuses, the usual.

Moments later, we were next to a wheelbarrow shoveling dirt. He looked at me with flat eyes, his hood up, shoulders slumped, and said, “Why do we have to do this?”

I thought for a moment, because I’ll admit, it was a valid question.

Neither of us were all that into flowers or vegetables, or any of the things that would be grown in those garden boxes. But my wife, Mel, loves gardening.

I thought, and he waited, and finally I said, “When you love someone, you serve them.”

I went on, telling him that I want him to grow up to be the kind of man who serves his family, friends, and community.

“This” I said while gesturing to the dirt, and the garden boxes I built the weekend before, and the wheelbarrow and shovel, and the first of many truckloads of dirt we would unload over the next few weeks, “Is what love looks like.”

He didn’t like my answer. I could see it in the way he reluctantly picked his shovel back up.

We finished unloading the dirt. The next day, while I was at work, and the kids and Mel had the day off because it was between terms, Mel sent me this picture. Mel picked up another load of dirt and before she had a chance to unload it, Tristan voluntarily started working. When she asked him “why,” he shrugged and said, “Because I love you.”

I’d never been prouder of my son.

Credit: Clint Edwards

 

[STKR]

 

[STKR]

In 2011, a young Nebraskan named David attended an auction to reclaim an 80-acre piece of his family's lost farm.

 

[STKR]

"Remember when I posted about my neighbor who put up a security camera aimed right at our backyard? I was furious. I’d convinced myself he was spying, and I was two bad ideas away from marching over there with a shovel and a speech.

But someone gave me a simple piece of advice: “Ask him why.”

So I did.

Turns out, he didn’t even realize it was angled that way. He’d just gone through a rough divorce, was living alone, and said he wanted to feel “less boxed in, but still safe.” Then he pointed to a rough sketch on his patio and said, almost shyly, “I just want to make something beautiful.”

That stopped me cold.

We got to talking, and it turned out he’d been wanting to redo the fence between our yards but didn’t know how. I told him I worked with wood, that I’d built furniture and outdoor pieces before. His eyes lit up. “Would you help me?” he asked.

Two weeks later, there we were—covered in sawdust, arguing over stain colors, laughing over takeout pizza. What started as frustration turned into friendship. We ended up designing a shared fence with a built-in fold-down bar table between our yards. We can drop it on either side for cookouts, pass burgers through, or just lean there and talk about nothing while the grill warms up.

He took down the camera before I even mentioned it.

Last weekend, we had burgers at that table. His ex stopped by to grab her mail and told him the fence looked beautiful. The way he smiled—proud, lighter somehow—made the whole thing worth it.

Sometimes people don’t mean harm. They just need connection. And sometimes fences don’t divide neighbors at all—they build bridges, with cup holders."

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